#vintage doorknobs

[scoutingthetrooper]

[riotclitshave]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Aqua ~

[swanosol]

[jeanneelaine]

[kanehopkins]

Home Bar Single Wall Austin Wet bar in a large transitional single-wall image with a medium-tone medium-brown floor, glass-front cabinets, gray cabinets, wood countertops, gray backsplash, and subway tile backsplash. The image also features an undermount sink.

[daisy-source]

Single Wall Home Bar Inspiration for a large transitional single-wall medium tone wood floor and brown floor wet bar remodel with an undermount sink, glass-front cabinets, gray cabinets, wood countertops, gray backsplash, subway tile backsplash and brown countertops

[ethearecals]

hola!! would you be able to write a one shot with your first date with remus? maybe you’re both a little shy and nervous and just trying so hard to impress one another and there’s a lot of blushing and cute moments :)

hii! ofc, lovely! (screaming cause i got my first request 🥳🥳)

—•—

Check Yes, Juliet

synopsis: when Marlene sets two polar opposites up to go on a date

contents: fem!reader, reader likes bows, badboy!remus, just cute adorable idiots in love (:, mentioned dorlene!, readers favorite color is red

warnings: none!

a/n: this fic is inspired by the song “Check Yes, Juliet” by We The Kings! thanks for requesting!

“MARLS… ARE YOU SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?” you ask from your position in front of your mirror, carefully tying red ribbon into your hair.

“of course it is, y/n. he’ll love you! besides, opposites attract!” Marlene assured you, carefully applying red lipstick to her plush lips.

“i was a little… hesitant when Pandora insisted I go on a date with Dorcas, y’know, cause we were so different. but look at us— we’re about to hit our eight months!”

you nodded silently, checking yourself out in the mirror before finishing your eyeliner.

once Marlene had gotten picked up from your shared flat, you laced up your shoes and got your things together.

and that’s when you heard the knock.

the special knock.

the knock you had been waiting three days for.

your hand nervously gripped the doorknob and twisted it open.

“hi.”

“hi.”

you didn’t mean to say “hi” in unison, now what do you say? crap he was supposed to say hi first and then—

“you look gorgeous.”

you got broken out of your thoughts, your eyes hitting his with an awkward gaze.

“me?”

he chuckled, “who else would i be talking to?”

“o-oh, right, o-of course.” you blushed out of embarrassment.

you could cue some crickets here, you could tell he was nervous, you’ve never seen the resident bad boy so nervous.

“these are for you.”

he held out a bouquet of luscious roses, red, your favorite color.

“w-wow… Remus… these are beautiful…”

“just like you.” his cheeks lit up in a rosy shade, almost as if a painter had graced him with his paintbrush.

he’d definitely rehearsed that.

you let out a soft giggle, before stepping out the front door and walking with him to his car.

you guys ended up going to this adorable vintage diner near his house, you felt like you could talk to him for hours, except you were so nervous.

he even paid for the food, he paid! (even though the guy should totally pay on first days but that’s just me 🤷‍♀️)

“don’t worry, darlin’, i’ll pay”

“Remus i was gonna pay—“

“shh, keep sipping on your slushy” you blushed, you needed to get this blushing problem under control.

“so, do you have any hobbies?”

sweet of him to ask, but you felt as if you were a bit basic.

“oh, i play electric guitar so.. i guess that’s my hobby, what about you?”

you smiled, god he already loved your smile, it was so sweet, especially since your tongue was red from the cherry slushy you had been sipping on.

“you play guitar? sick!— i mean— cool.. i play bass.”

“bass? i’ve always wanted to play bass!— i mean— that’s super cool, maybe we can play together sometime?” you were quick to get flustered by your own words.

damn, you were being bold.

“i’d like that.”

he tossed some stones into the river underneath the bridge you guys had found, your legs dangling gently off the edge as you sipped on your slushy.

“do you read at all?” you asked, reading being one of your most favorite things.

“i do— actually.”

“really?

“i know it seems unlikely, but yeah, i do.”

“well.. what are your favorites?”

“it’s hard to choose, but i’ve always liked the classics— you know, like.. Romeo and Juliet.”

“Remus, you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you, the coolest guy in town, reads Romeo and Juliet.” he let out a chuckle.

“it’s true.” he shrugged, flashing his signature grin at you.

“do… you have a favorite?”

and just like that you both had spent quite a few hours just sitting on that bridge and talking, you never thought it could really get better than that.

“i know we already talked about hobbies, but have you got any more?”

“i mean— i skateboard, ”

“you skateboard?! damn, i’m really trying to make myself sound cool here but you aren’t helping.” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

“oh come on, it’s skateboarding, it’s not that cool…” Remus itched his neck sheepishly.

“i’m sure there has to be something cool about you.” he teased, his big hand ruffling your hair.

“i don’t know what that could possibly be.” you shrugged.

“well… you wear these beautiful bows everytime i see you walking down the street, and you told me that you like to stay up all night and play video games.” he remembered everything..

“that’s not cool, that’s being a loser.”

“you are about the farthest thing from a loser, y/n.”

you froze a bit, that was so… sweet.

“t-thanks.” you blushed, again. (no surprise)

“i’ll have to teach you how to skate, though.”

“i’d love that.”

the drive back to your apartment was nothing short of a dream, music blasting, turns out you both had similar music taste.

“billy joel has to be a gift from the heavens.” you remarked loudly, your hair blowing in the breeze, the top down on his convertible.

“i can play uptown girl on guitar!” he responded, a wide smile on his face.

“really?”

“yeah!” the excitement in his voice made you blush almost the same color as your slushy.

“that’s so cool!”

he smiled wider, looking over to you, your pretty face lit up with street lights.

“i write poetry.” you confessed, you’ve definitely come out of your shell.

“you need to show me, sometime.” he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex.

“i… had a great time with you today.” you were so smiley.

“i had a great time with you, too.”

as the gentleman Remus John Lupin was, he walked you to your door.

“i guess this is goodbye.” he sighed lightly, not really wanting his night to end with you.

“thanks for.. everything—“

before you could even finish speaking, his lips were on yours.

your brain imploded, your eyes fluttering shut into the soft kiss Remus had just blessed you with.

your lips tasted of cherry and lip gloss, but he really didn’t mind. his nimble hands crept to your waist as your hands fell to his shoulders. just before he pulled away.

“i’ll see you around, Juliet.”

you smiled at the given nickname, blushing at the suddenness of that kiss still.

“bye, Romeo.”

he chuckled, before quickly walking down the hallway.

Marlene was right, opposites attract.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Fabricated Reality AU part 1 (Yanderes x reader)

This is a series where I put all my era 3 OCs in Situations™, so all 5 of them would kind of battle over you

Introduction

You woke up in a cold sweat. You panted as your eyes darted around the room, struggling to lift the fog clouding your mind, where are you? It appears to be in a bedroom with clinically bright and cold lights, white walls, and very little furniture. You realize you're sitting on ivory sheets, and the mattress beneath you is neither soft nor firm. It's adequate.

You spent a few more moments looking around, trying to make sense of it all. There is no personality in this room, no paintings or shades other than white. The clothes on your back also match the surroundings, it resembles a hospital gown, down to its scratchiness and stiffness.

Cradling your head, you cautiously shifted yourself to the edge of the bed and set your feet down. The tiles are cold and you frowned at the unpleasantness of it. However, you're more upset that you couldn't remember what brought you into this predicament in the first place. Hell, you don't even remember anything at all. Who were you? What were you?

You rubbed your face and sighed, but upon lifting your head up, you were surprised to see a door that wasn't there before. You looked around once more for any context, but you found none.

You inched towards it, carefully reaching out for its doorknob and twisting it. Your ears perk up when you hear a click, as you're familiar with the concept of an unlocked door.

You pulled it open and exited your room, emerging into a grand, beautiful marble hallway adorned with chandeliers and side tables shouldering vases of exotic flowers. The air is crisp and fresh despite the absence of open windows.

At the end of it, lies the mouth of a set of grandiose stairs. You made your way towards them, hearing the muffled chatters growing more and more distinct with every step.

"...no luck, I still don't get what the fuck is up with them. Montgomery almost split his nails trying to pry the windows open, the crowbar you found snapped too. I kept finding myself back here whenever I stepped out through those huge doors." You heard a deep, masculine voice, exasperated.

"Items in the pantry and kitchen replenish themselves at dawn in seemingly impossible ways." Another voice, this time softer and more honeyed, added to the conversation.

You poked your head out from the corner. From above, you saw four men sitting on their sofas and loveseats. They seem to be discussing something.

"It's so hard to find a room, the doors lead me into a different place each time. It's frustrating whenever I open my wardrobe, I'll find myself in the garden." You listened to them complain. One of them stood out; they hadn't said a word yet. The other three were vocal.

The quiet one flicked their gaze up, landing on you. It definitely spooked you, enough to retreat back behind a wall. You felt your heart pounding in fear as you brought your head out again to see what the situation was.

The person, with luscious, inky locks and emerald eyes was on their way to the stairs. They moved so elegantly and fluidly, that it appears the rest of the group didn't notice that they had left the conversation entirely.

You panicked and instinctively bolted in the direction of your room. You reached for the doorknob and swung the door open, retreating into the white space.

Shutting the door behind you, your shoulders heaved up and down as you tried to recover from your anxiousness. It was distracting enough to blind you to the fact that this isn't the room that you work up in.

"...Sweetheart?"

You whipped your head back to see a man with unkempt, brown shaggy hair and messy stubble. His dark eyes were wide open as he watched you through the strands with his mouth open agape. Your eyes shifted to the surroundings, it appears to be a rustic, farmhouse bedroom with vintage decor and furniture. Anything white, yellowed with age, which includes the floral-print comforter that he's sitting on.

You tried to get out of the room, but you found that the door disappeared behind you. Dread set in when he suddenly rushed over to you, a panicked yell escaped your lips when he engulfed you in his arms.

"It's you, it really is you..." Your nerves calmed when you realized that he meant no harm, you found that he appeared impossibly tall, needing to reach your eye levels by kneeling. The man spent a few more seconds sobbing on your shoulder, his arms tightly constricting you as if you were going to disappear at a moment's notice.

He sniffled, pulling away and revealing his teary, bloodshot eyes to you. The tip of his nose is red from crying, you assume that he's been doing this for a while now.

"H-how did y'get here? Are you okay? Did anyone hurt ya'?" He lets go of you to examine your body. He checked your arms, your face, and even the temperature of your forehead, using the back of his hand. You noted the heavy, southern accent in his voice.

You simply stared at him as he stroked your cheeks, pushing any stray hairs behind your ears. It felt... pleasant. You don't think that he's posing any danger to you, but you're still wary of him. Is he mistaking you for someone else? You have never met him before. Though, you couldn't remember much of anything before this. Perhaps he was someone important to you.

"Please say somethin', darlin'." His eyebrows knitted in confusion and worry. "Anythin', please... I need to know if you're okay." The man held your head in his large hands, keeping it in place and slightly mashing your cheeks together until your lips puckered.

He pressed a kiss on your forehead. "Please?" He begged, becoming desperate as each second passed.

You pried his hands away and opened your mouth to say something, but unfortunately, you couldn't say anything coherent. Not even gibberish, you could only make short, forceful shouts and groans that sounded like you were in agony. And in a way, you were, because you're becoming increasingly distressed over your inability to speak. You could comprehend language, but you couldn't express it.

The man, seemingly sensing your terror, quickly hushed you by allowing you to retreat into his strong arms. "Shh... Shh.... It's okay, It's okay honey. W-we're gonna figure it out." He pecked you on the crown numerous times to try and calm you down. Luckily it did, or he would have lost his mind too.

"Oh, you poor thing. What happened to ya'...?" He mumbled in your hair.

You stayed like this for a while, enjoying the warmth his body provides. You shivered a bit at some point, finding his heat wasn't enough to stave you from the frigidness of the room.

"I reckon yer' pretty cold, only havin' that on yer back." The stranger pulled away to take his ratty, chore jacket off. "Here, let me help ya." He wraps it around you, and you instantly feel much better than before.

You tried to thank him, but all that escaped was a loud yell. It looks like you couldn't speak more than one syllable, nor could you necessarily control the volume of your voice.

He ushered you to the bed, where you sat on the edge, while he was still on his knees in front of you. He looked away momentarily, thinking of what to ask you. He must have thought you were acting strange, outside of his own version of you, as he proceeded to ask:

"Do ya'... remember me?" He enveloped your hands in his, and he brought it to his lips. His eyes were hopeful, but you knew he was bracing for the worst.

You hesitantly shook your head. You saw his shoulders sag in devastation.

"No, you- you must have heard me wrong. Do you remember me- do you remember us? The times we spent together, the nights we had..." He looked deeply into your eyes, to find anything, a glimmer of recognition no matter how vague. But he found nothing aside from a growing fear. "...Nothing...?"

You shook your head again, feeling guilty and pity towards him as he released a choked sob.

"Really...? You, you don't remember me?" He whispered tears rolling down his face again. Some landed on your hands.

You gave him a sympathetic look as you nodded.

"Oh. Um..." He sniffled, wiping his tears away. You gave him a moment to regain his composure.

You tried asking what his name was, but it came out as a single shout; making him jolt. Seeing that there is no way to reliably communicate verbally, you resorted to using hand gestures. It took you a few attempts and a lot of pointing, but eventually, he understood what you wanted from him.

"Montgomery. My name is Montgomery, ya' used to call me Monty." His face told you everything, you knew it crushed him to reintroduce himself.

You nodded, but before you could even 'ask' him more questions, you heard a door opening.

Turning your head to the source, you saw the same man who you were initially running away from. Seemingly surprised at the sight before him.

The door that he entered disappeared behind him, trapping the three of you in this room, but the green-eyed man didn't seem too concerned about that. You couldn't predict any discernible pattern in this reality.

It appears as if he's frozen in place, his pupils blowing wide as it landed on you. It's unnerving, so you got up and hid behind Montgomery. When the other stranger tilted his head to look at the other man, his pupils constricted considerably.

The atmosphere felt much colder, much more menacing than before. Montgomery tried to lighten it up by joking: "Lookin' for the shitter? Well, it ain't here sadly."

You surmise that the doors would lead to random places, even if it was physically impossible.

Montgomery wrapped an arm around you. "This is my spouse, they just burst in from one of those magic doors. Somethin's wrong, though. They can't speak, they couldn't remember me either."

You were unnerved at how the other man never blinked, just staring at the two of you owlishly.

"Maybe yours would show up later today or tomorrow. But just... Just be ready to have them break your heart like this." Montgomery laughed bitterly as he stroked your hair.

"What is your name?" His smooth, commanding yet gentle baritone voice asked you. It appears that he's expecting a certain answer.

You dug deeper into Montgomery's side, knowing that you can't say it.

"It's (name). They understand English and they can make noises... really loud ones too, but they can't say words." Montgomery answered for you. "Oh! And, Sweetie, this is Yves. He's also tryin' to figure out how this place works."

You nodded and brought your attention back to Yves.

There were a few beats of silence until it was broken by your frantic yelling; you saw the door materialize itself behind the lithe man and it disturbed you to no end. Montgomery struggled to hush you, as Yves stood there unmoving.

"...I see." He finally replied, holding a hauntingly blank look on his gorgeous face. Yves stared at you for a duration that made you and Montgomery much more uncomfortable. You felt like the stranger was etching every groove, every trace of your identity into his brain. You felt naked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep but silent breath. "Please excuse me, I have somewhere to be." Yves finally dismissed himself and left the room, softly closing the door behind him. It then, phased out of existence, leaving a smooth yet somewhat peeling, aging wall. It blended in with the area.

Yves appeared in the middle of the living room again. Where he found himself facing an audience, perplexed and disturbed at the fact that Yves suddenly manifested out of thin air. But it wasn't as bad as their first encounter with such anomalies, these had happened enough for them to accept it as somewhat mundane.

Yves stood there, averting his gaze as a stray tear rolled down his cheek. He appears to be preoccupied with something, as he didn't wipe the droplet off, instead allowing it to drip down his chin.

"What happened?" Asked the man who bore a familial resemblance to Yves, except he had copper eyebrows and hazel irises. He lounges leisurely on the sofa, holding a flute of champagne between his manicured fingers.

Yves spared each of them an unreadable glance, before wordlessly walking away.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a lovely 1835 home right on Bourbon St. in New Orleans, LA. 4bds, 5ba, 3,587 sq ft, and it was reduced $52k down to $1.998m. It's at the end of Bourbon St., in a more residential area, not near the nightlife, but it looks like it's still a hard sell. Also, there's only on-street parking.

It doesn't look like much outside, which may be intentional, but as soon as you enter the hall you can see how large and beautiful it is.

I think that maybe a wall was removed, judging by the size of the sitting room and the matching fireplaces.

I like the wallpaper. The fireplaces are original marble.

I kind of like this moody kitchen.

It has a chef's stove. Look at the doorknobs on the ovens.

Gold sink and backsplash and black counters.

There's plenty of everyday dining space in the kitchen. I like the brown subway tiled walls, too.

Here's a fancy guest powder room on the main floor.

The primary bedroom is stunning. Look at the old brick wall.

It has a combination original vintage ensuite with modern amenities.

It looks like they made a small TV room in a hall.

Beautiful, large secondary bedroom.

The old brick walls in this home are just georgeous.

Small back area with the doors to the terrace.

The long narrow terrace in the rear of the home.

In this bedroom, they painted the brick white.

Updated bedroom and bath in the guest suite.

This is a family room.

And, it has a kitchenette back here, and a shower.

Nice garden with a pond. 3,810 sq ft lot

The terrace on the front of the house.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1132-Bourbon-St-New-Orleans-LA-70116/73779812_zpid/?

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Focus on me - Chan

(this is a membership exclusive + a preview 👀 you can read the whole perverted story here)

pairing: Bang Chan x female reader x Felix Lee

summary: when Chan finds a vintage video camera in perfect condition, he has to show Felix. However he sounds a little preoccupied with you. Chan knows he shouldn't look, but the camera can't help but record everything...

warnings: voyeurism, pet names, dom! Felix/subbie reader, slight exhibitionism, rough s3x, masterbation

....As he walked, more like excitedly skipped, back to his apartment, he couldn't help but feel giddy at the prospect of showing his roommate Felix. Felix had always enjoyed technology, especially anything vintage or antique, and Chan just knew how much he would enjoy this find.

Chan opened the front door to the apartment and made his way to Felix's room. Chan was so distracted by his surprise he didn't even notice the noises coming from his roommate's room. He turned the doorknob halfway before a soft moan struck through his ears.

Chan froze immediately, recognizing your voice from the previous times you had visited. He could always hear your faint whimpering through the wall that he shared with Felix. His cock twitched in his pants as you moaned again, the unmistakable sounds of skin slapping following it. Chan knew that he shouldn't lean in and look. He knew that. He wasn't some creepy guy that watches people have sex…

[riotclitshave]

[eyesthatroll]

TOUCH

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: after game care

warning(s): none i believe, didn’t really hardcore edit this, though.

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: is this cringe..? who knows. title is random, couldn’t really think of one. i kind of like this, though, i don’t know. as always, reblogs + constructive criticism are always appreciated. hope you all are doing well, thank you all for 700 followers! that is absolutely bonkers —mari <3

Jack turns the polished doorknob with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The door creaks open just wide enough for him to slip inside, his steps like whispers against the hardwood floor. He carefully eases the door closed, each inch moving with silent precision to preserve the serenity of the room.

His cautious efforts, however, seem almost futile as he enters the dimly lit space. The soft glow of a vintage lamp casts a warm, golden hue across the room, creating a cocoon of muted comfort. In the far corner of the cozy living room, there you were, curled up on the soft leather sectional, your presence barely stirring in the tranquil air. You were wrapped in a world of your own, ensnared by the allure of the latest book you had bought.

With a quiet sigh, he drops his bags by the door, kicking off his shoes, which land on the floor with a soft thud. Only then, did you finally lift your gaze, your awareness slowly dawning like the first light of day.

Pushing your glasses up to rest atop your head, your book becomes momentarily abandoned, your focus shifting toward your boyfriend. A tender smile graces your lips as you greet him, your voice carrying the warmth of affection, 'Hi, my love.'"

He offers you a small smile, his movements deliberate as he limps over to you, a testament to his eagerness to share a proper greeting despite the discomfort from his leg. Leaning in, he tilts his head downward, and his lips tenderly meet yours. He brings his calloused hands up to your face, cradling your cheeks with a delicate touch as his lips become one with yours.

The kiss lasts only for a few moments, before you're pulling away. As you draw back, a subtle frown creases your features, communicating your concern without uttering a word.

In the silent exchange of your expressions, Jack, attuned to your every nuance, shakes his head, discerning your worry. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

He attempts to offer you reassurance, but the subtle hesitation in the way he avoids putting his full weight on his left leg as he moves doesn't align with his words. "What happened to your foot?"

You had witnessed him take a harsh hit against the boards toward the end of the second period. And despite getting back up seemingly unscathed and returning for the third period, the discrepancy in his gait now raises questions.

"My knee," he clarifies, his voice gruff as he steps into the kitchen. He begins to rummage through the refrigerator until his fingers locate a chilled water bottle.

"Did you tell someone?"

Jack's stubbornness and unwavering commitment to hockey, even in the face of injuries, was well-known. He had a tendency to push himself beyond reasonable limits, insisting that he possessed an innate understanding of his body well enough to avoid serious harm. That sentiment did nothing to alleviate your persistent worry.

“No.”

Exhaling a sigh, you shake your head to yourself. “Jack, why n–”

“Leave it alone, baby, please. I’m tired, my body hurts, and I just want to go to bed.”

“Fine.” Dropping your hands in surrender, you end the conversation there. You knew that pushing the conversation any further would only fan the flames of an argument that you had no energy to occupy.

Jack trudges sluggishly upstairs, and you steal a few moments to gather wits about you, before closing your book, leaving it to rest on the coffee table, extinguishing the warm glow of the lamp before heading upstairs.

Upon entering your shared bedroom, you find Jack sitting at the edge of the bed, midway through the process of undressing. He struggles to remove his shirt, wincing in discomfort before abruptly halting.

"Your shoulder too?" You ask, closing the distance between the two of you. As you approach, he subtly spreads his legs to make room for you, and you slip into the space in between them with ease. With a gentle touch, your right hand rises, tucking away the stray, overgrown brown locks that obscure his face.

“Yeah.”

Wordlessly, you take hold of the bottom hem of his shirt, carefully drawing it up and over his head. A hiss of discomfort escapes his lips as his arms are lifted above his head, revealing the pain he had been silently enduring.

"Do you want me to run a bath for you?" you ask, your voice carrying a tender note as you tilted your head slightly at him.

He shakes his head. "Will you rub my back?"

Your teeth graze over your bottom lip.

"Of course I will. Let me grab some lotion, okay?" You assure him with a small smile, leaning in to plant a quick, reassuring kiss against his forehead. Stepping out of his grasp, you make your way to your ensuite bathroom, where you retrieve a bottle of lotion from the counter beside the sink.

Upon your return to the bedroom, you find Jack laying on his stomach, his pants discarded, leaving him clad in only his boxer shorts. Quietly, you cross over to his side of the bed, and with a gentle grace, you mount his legs, straddling him intimately with your own legs positioned on either side.

Gazing down at him, your fingers delicately traverse the landscape of overwhelming redness that adorns his back. A sympathetic ache washes over you as you thought of the pain he must be enduring.

Reaching for the lotion bottle at your side, you squeeze a generous amount into the palm of your hand. Rubbing your hands together, you diligently work the lotion into a softened lather before gingerly pressing your palms onto his back. With a mindful touch, you apply moderate pressure, your nimble fingers skillfully working to unravel the knots of tension that had taken up residence along the contours of his back.

"Are you okay? I don't wanna hurt you," you murmur, with genuine concern. In response, a soft groan escapes his lips, and his hand reaches out to give your thigh a reassuring squeeze, conveying both his appreciation and trust in your touch.

A half an hour unfolds as you devotedly work your skilled hands across his back, your focus honed on the stubborn kinks in his shoulders. Your touch becomes more assertive, a firm pressure applied to those strained areas, eliciting soft grunts of relief from Jack.

It's not until you reach for more lotion that you notice the steady rise and fall of his chest, a sign that he had drifted off to sleep.

With a slowed motion, you lean forward, your lips softly gracing the middle of his shoulder blades with a soft kiss. A sweet, wordless expression of your affection.

[lillaluna]

in this world and that world

Pairing: Diluc, Childe, Ayato, Wriothesley x f!Reader

Summary: You're absolutely in love with your beautiful character from the game Genshin Impact and at one point, you meet him in your reality.

DILUC

You've had an absolutely lousy day, preceded by the same morning and preceded by the same evening. It's been like this for a month now.

Going home after work, you decided that it would not be a bad idea to buy yourself a bottle of wine, especially today was Friday. Going to the shop, you went to your favourite rack and took that bottle of wine, which you had taken almost every Friday until today.

"I'd better not take it, it's not the best vintage and…"

"I'll probably sort out my own drinking, mister!" - you were just starting to wind up, like a flame that had been inadvertently splashed with fuel. Turning round to the guy who'd made the remark you were preparing to unleash all your anger on him, but when you met his scarlet eyes you froze. Then somewhere in the back of your mind you heard the sound of breaking glass. "Diluс," you squeaked.

The guy ignoring your daze fussed around you, holding out his hand for you to safely step over the shards from the broken bottle. He kept saying that one of the staff would come and clean it up, when you automatically put your hand into Diluс's open palm, and as soon as your fingers touched you passed out.

AYATO

After waiting at the bus stop for almost an hour, you decided there was nothing more to catch there and headed home on foot. It wasn't a long walk, but you were hampered by a downpour, the first of the rainy season. Scolding yourself for forgetting your umbrella at home and pressing your head into your shoulders as if it could save you from the large drops of rain, you waited for the traffic light to turn green, standing in front of the pedestrian crossing.

And at some point, the rain stopped. No, not everywhere. The drops stopped falling on the top of your head, pouring under your clothes. Without taking your eyes off the ground you turned your head a little and saw a man's light-coloured shoes, followed by white trousers. As you looked up, you noticed a blue shirt. And a white jacket that was thrown over the man's broad shoulders.

This image already reminded you vaguely of someone, and looking up, you met the blue eyes of the guy across from you.

You must have looked like a madwoman, standing like that, under the umbrella the man held over you, while you stared at him and literally forced yourself to breathe.

"Ayato…", you whispered quietly, afraid that the magic was about to dissipate or that you'd wake up in bed sweating, but the guy across from you just smiled sweetly.

"I thought we knew each other. I can't figure out where I've seen you before".

CHILDE

Evening. Your room in the student dormitory, where you've been trying to memorise the answers to the tests for one of the most important exams of your life for the past hour. On the one hand you're let down by your absent-mindedness and lack of concentration, and on the other… On the other hand by the loud music that's blaring, as it seems to you, to the whole neighbourhood.

Unable to stand these beautiful tunes, you decide to go and deal with the troublemaker. Of course, you hope to just ask him/her to turn it down, but you don't completely dismiss the idea that you might have to fight.

You had to knock long and hard, pulling the doorknob a few times before the music stopped and you finally heard footsteps outside the door. Preparing to utter an angry tirade, you took more air into your lungs, and as soon as the door opened you let the air out like a balloon.

Your first thought was that you'd fallen asleep. Yeah you must have fallen asleep playing on your phone, and that's why in your dream you now have Childe standing in front of you and smiling cheekily, awkwardly scratching himself on the back of his head.

"I guess I did it too loud," the guy says, but you just let it pass and looking at him full in your mind's eye, you unceremoniously reach out and poke your finger right into his chest to make sure he's real.

WRIOTHESLEY

Kicking the crap out of the punching bag at the gym became your favourite method of stress relief. Channelling all the negative emotions, you excitedly sent powerful, by your standards, punches into the sports equipment hanging in front of you.

You were not a super athletic girl, but rather the opposite, more of a slim and too thin. And very uncoordinated…

The "head with ears", as you called the hairstyle of your favourite character from your favourite game, captured your attention immediately, and you completely forgot about the fact that you were about to be attacked by a freshly beaten pear.

A moment later it did, and you collapsed to the floor with a loud "oh, fuck". Dropping your gloves and rolling over onto all fours, you crawled away from the still swinging punching bag. Your head felt a little dizzy as you shook it out of your eyes. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the red sneakers, which, judging by their size, were worn on a man's feet.

"Fuck," you exhaled, and lowered your head, recognising that in a moment, you'd have to burn with shame.

Resting one hand on the floor, you pushed yourself up to squat. Slowly glancing down at your legs, your black shorts, and then your white sports shirt, you tilted your head questioningly to the side as you noticed the scars on the guy's neck in front of you.

"I can't help you if you're going to sit in that pose and stare."

You could have sworn you were ready to faint when you heard that painfully familiar voice. As you looked up sharply to the guy's face, you realised that surely the pear had hit you on the head too hard, because in front of you stood Wriothesley, the same damn Duke Meropide.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, mentions of abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble out into the hallway, nearly colliding with the dingy and peeling paint on the wall. The door slams with the force of your frantic exit, nails bending painfully as you let go of the brass knob. Your heart pulses in your ears as another crash bangs from inside the apartment and your father's tirade blazes on.

You untangle your bag, the only thing you could snatch as you stepped halfway into your shoes. The doorknob twists again and you quickly flee down the hall, your father yanking at the door as it jams. You quickly veer down the staircase and only stop at the top of the next flight to pull your shoes on all the way.

You catch your breath at the front door, aware of how Mrs. Davis’ door snaps shut when you pass. You continue outside without a destination in mind. You could hide out at the library again, no one notices you there. It is a bit far to walk.

You sling the crochet bag over your head so it hangs against your hip. You reach inside and find your change purse. You don't have much after the electric bill. Two bucks, it's three to get the bus.

You huff and tuck your hand back in your bag. Your feet carry you as you wind down the street. The apathetic rush of traffic makes you feel invisible. You don't mind that, it's more dangerous to be seen.

There's nothing remarkable about you. You're taller than most girls but that's more worthy of ridicule than admiration. You wear second-hand clothing, some of it your dad's handmedowns, and hunch until your spine hurts. An elephant trying to play fawn.

You chew your lip and stop by the vintage shop. Not the Goodwill but the expensive place with the designer houndstooth and Louis Vuitton logos. In another world…

Across the street, a night club stands desolate and eerie in the daylight. A few times you passed during opening and it was rowdy and flashing. Just on your way to the bus station to spend a couple hours on a bench.

On the next street, a cafe. The place that closed then opened only weeks later. New ownership but everything else the same. The prices aren't as steep as the Starbucks kiosk near the station.

You ponder it, stopping outside as you see a woman behind the counter. You're a bit relieved it's not the usual barista. That guy with reddish hair and warm brown eyes. He likes to talk, too bad you don't.

You enter and approach the till. The woman greets you brightly, her eyes look tired, and she points out to the specials. Nope, you can only afford a tea.

You pay for the green tea and way for her to pour the hot water. As you tap your fingers on the counter, another figure appears from behind the espresso machine. It's that guy. Dang.

“Hey, done break, your turn,” he chirps, quieting as he sees you standing there. He smiles, “oh, hi, you been helped?”

You nod and look down. The woman places the cup of steaming water in front of you. You thank her and take it, turning to claim the seat in the corner.

You sit and settle in with your bag in your lap. You don't have much to do so you stare out the window. Pedestrians pass by, with purpose, some even happily.

The cafe is quiet. There's a couple nesr the opposite wall, on a date, maybe. The ambiance holds even as people come in, ordering and leaving with their drinks.

You blow on your tea and sip. You tug the string of the bag and dip it up and down. Your dad will tire himself out soon. Maybe two hours. You can't make one tea last that long.

You put your arm on the table and curl your shoulders. You trace a finger on the tabletop. You usually keep a book in your bag but you took it out to read last night.

You frown. It shouldn't be like this but that's just how it is. You don't have much of a choice. Your dad is your family, your only family, all you have.

You wiggle your nose and swallow back your self-pity. No use crying. Especially here.

“Hi,” the voice frightens you as the barista approaches with a cinnamon bun on a plate, “uh, I'm Peter, remember? Saw you last week?”

You blink. You press your palms to the cup and feel the heat threaten to blister. He's short, his shoulders broad, and his posture straight.

“Er, you want a cinnamon bun?”

“I… no, I don't have the money,” you rasp and sip your tea.

“On the house,” he insists, “really, there was a mix up this morning and we made a batch too many.”

“That's nice but… no thank you.”

You know what it is to accept favours. They always come back to debts. You lower your head again.

“You don't like sweets? We have quiche–”

You shake your head. He hovers, waiting. You turn to watch out the window again. You wince as the plate clinks onto the table. He leaves the bun there and goes back behind the counter. You ignore it.

Maybe you won't come here anymore.

[ifelllikeastar]